Requiem
by Teresa2
Summary: Sequel to 'Through a Glass Darkly.'


Requiem 

By

Teresa 

January 30, 1981

Steve McGarrett lingered by the graveside for some time after the other mourners had gone. The gravediggers were hovering at a respectable distance from the grave, impatient to finish their job and be gone, but McGarrett was reluctant to leave the serenity of Punchbowl Cemetery and face the task that lay ahead of him.

It had been an impressive funeral. Steve knew that the Governor would have approved. Paul Jameson was a formal, conventional man. He believed in tradition and ritual. The pomp and formality of this State ceremony would have seemed fitting to him. So, too, would the glowing eulogies from his peers - not only his political allies but also the bitter rivals who had been bent on his destruction while he lived, but flocked to idealize him after death. Steve smiled, wryly. The Governor would find nothing hypocritical in the fact that those who had been most determined to bring him down now praised him the loudest; he had been in the political arena long enough to understand the way things worked.

Steve sighed. Not only had he lost his greatest ally, but a longtime friend, also. It was 21 years since the Governor had founded the elite state police force, _Hawaii Five-0_, and, in spite of bitter opposition, had appointed ex- Naval Intelligence officer Steve McGarrett to be its chief. In the years since, the Governor had been both McGarrett's main support and the bane of his existence. Steve knew that he would miss Jameson terribly, but he also knew that his friend had suffered greatly over the past few months. Death had been a welcome release for the man, and for those who loved him. 

Now, there was a new Governor of Hawaii. An arrogant, brash young man with none of Jameson's courtliness and charm. Aggressive and loudly self-confident, the new man was determined to do things _his_ way, with no regard for the wishes and plans of his predecessor.

Steve winced as he recalled his interview with the new Governor, just a few hours ago. 

"Face it McGarrett! Five-0 is an anachronism! A dinosaur! Years ago, it was worth the money we poured into it. You got results then! But these days, it's just a drain on the public purse! Crime is rampant here in the islands, and Five-0 can't control it any more than HPD or any other island police force can. The money and equipment being poured into Five-0 can be put to better use by them!"

These days, it seemed, politics was all about saving money. The human costs involved in cutting expenditure were irrelevant to this new breed of politician.

Steve sighed, and shook his head, sadly. Paul Jameson's death was going to have a devastating impact on a lot of people, some who had never even met the man. With a last, silent, farewell, Steve began to walk briskly away from the grave.

*

Steve had intended to return to the office. Instead, almost against his will, he found himself at Oahu Cemetery.

It had been over a year, but Steve remembered precisely where to go, weaving his way between the graves until he came to the one he was seeking. 

The headstone, just a year old and already showing signs of weathering, bore only the simple inscription:

Dan Williams

December 8, 1937 - December 8 1979

R.I.P.

_R.I.P. Rest In Peace._ _Rest In Peace. Are you resting in peace, Danno? _Steve wondered, bitterly, if Dan had found release from the demons that had driven him first to the bottle, and then to his final act of desperation.

McGarrett recalled the expression on Dan's face, when he asked him to join Hawaii Five-0 as his Second-In-Command. There had been severe criticism of the decision to appoint someone so young - just out of college - when there were many more experienced candidates. Even the Governor had opposed it, but Steve stood firm. He had investigated Williams thoroughly before finally deciding to approach him with his offer, and he believed that, in spite of his youth, he was more than capable of handling the task. Steve had contacted the young man, and made an appointment, and Dan had impressed him by arriving precisely at the agreed time. When Steve offered him the job, Williams gave no indication of surprise. 

McGarrett offered his hand, with the words "A lot of people were opposed to my offering this position to someone as young and inexperienced as you, Williams. Don't let me down."

Dan's hand was warm and dry; his handshake, firm and confident. His eyes met Steve's with a gaze that was as direct and steady as his handshake. He replied earnestly. "I won't fail you, Mr. McGarrett!" 

_But you did, Danno! _Steve accused, silently. _You let me down in the worst possible way. You committed the most cowardly act of betrayal possible, and I can never forgive you for it!_

***

December 8, 1979

Steve arrived at the office just before seven, intending to work on the ever-increasing stack of paperwork. Danno was already there, seated in his own cubicle with his head bent over a manila folder. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to his biceps. The top two buttons of his shirt were unfastened; the collar gapped open and his tie was draped loosely over his shoulders. His jacket had been discarded long ago, and hung carelessly over the back of his chair.

Steve was about to issue a cutting remark about Dan's state of dishevelment, when he remembered that his office window had been jammed shut for several days. It must have been torture for Danno, trying to work in the tiny, cluttered compartment, unable even to open a window to let in some fresh air. He certainly looked hot. As he bent over his desk, his sweat soaked curls shone wetly. Beads of moisture gathered along his hairline and trickled slowly down the sides of his face, which was several shades redder than usual and glowing with perspiration.

There was a large wet patch under each arm, and several smaller ones on his chest and back.

Biting back the intended rebuke, Steve tapped lightly on the doorframe and called brightly, "Morning, Danno, Happy Birthday!"

Dan lifted his head and nodded at his boss. "'Morning Steve. Thanks." He acknowledged the birthday wish without enthusiasm. His eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed ... Steve wondered fleetingly if that was caused by working all night, or Dan's rampant love life. His mind shied away from the subliminal suspicion that Dan looked hungover.

Dan's right hand reached for the coffee mug that was leaving a brown stain on the blotter, and he took a mouthful of coffee.

"How are you doing with the child-porn case, Danno?" 

Dan picked up the folder, with his left hand, and waved it in the air. "I'm working on it now. I'll probably BE working on it well into the next century!" he sighed. "**I'm getting nowhere**. Every lead, every clue just ends up going **nowhere**!" The bitterness and frustration were obvious in his voice.

"Well, keep at it Danno." With no other words of advice to offer, Steve continued on to his own office, where he spent several hours plowing through a stack of paperwork without seeming to make any headway at all. 

He had a ten o'clock meeting with the budget committee, which developed into a major dispute and continued through lunch. Returning to the office just before two, he found the place almost deserted.

"Where are Duke and Danno?" he asked as he passed his secretary's desk. Lani looked up, handing him a sheaf of messages. "Danny went out before lunch, to chase up some snitches. Haven't heard from him since. Duke is at HPD."

Steve nodded, and entered his office, reading the messages as he went. He had just lowered himself into his chair when the intercom buzzed. He jabbed at the button with his index finger. "Yes, Lani?"

"Sergeant Ono on line one, Steve."

"Thanks, Lani." He stabbed at the button on the telephone with the same impatient motion that he had used on the intercom, and picked up the receiver. "McGarrett. Yes, Sergeant?"

The voice on the other end of the line explained to him as concisely as possible, that one of his officers had been involved in the shooting of a teenage girl. Steve listened patiently as Ono gave him the details, interrupting only to ask relevant questions. Not until Ono had given him a complete synopsis of the situation, did he ask about his man.

"And Danno?"

"OK, I think Steve. He's staying out of the way. Letting my men handle it. A bit quiet. Withdrawn. But I guess that's understandable. It's not every day you kill a child"

_No. Not every day. _Steve thought bitterly. _But it seems to happen to Danno more often than to other cops._ On two previous occasions, Dan Williams had shot a young person. One young man had died; the other had recovered, but still walked with a limp to this very day. On both occasions, Dan had been crucified by the media; accused of being trigger happy, and of shooting innocent kids. Each time, Dan had been exonerated, and the furor had eventually died down, but McGarrett knew that each occasion had left Dan with a lasting scar, and he had never really forgiven himself for the shootings. This time, the victim was a girl, and even younger. McGarrett felt his stomach tighten in anticipation of the public outcry that was bound to come.

*

Steve pulled his car up behind the line of HPD patrol cars and morgue wagon, outside Mrs. Wing's Chinese Restaurant. Shoving his way through the crowd of spectators blocking the sidewalk, he finally managed to make it through the doorway, and inside. 

A uniformed police officer and a detective were talking soothingly to an old man seated at one of the tables. He was gazing sightlessly into the distance and babbling softly to himself in Chinese, seemingly oblivious to their attempts to question him. A forensics officer was busy brushing fingerprint powder onto the cash register. Two white-coated paramedics were preparing to lift a blanket-covered mound onto a stretcher, when Steve told them to wait. He walked over and pulled back a corner of the blanket. He spent a moment looking searchingly at the weathered, lined face of the tiny corpse, then covered her again, nodding his permission for the paramedics to take her away. His eyes met those of the uniformed cop, and he raised a questioning eyebrow. Officer Kapali nodded once, towards a curtained opening in the back wall. 

Steve walked through the opening, and found himself in a shadowy storeroom, piled high with cartons. There was one other door into the storeroom. It was open, and a shaft of bright sunlight streamed through it. Steve guessed that it must lead to the alley behind the restaurant. After a cursory look around the storeroom, Steve went through the doorway. He was immediately struck by the brightness, after the gloom of the restaurant, and by the nauseating odor of rotting garbage. 

He scanned the alley, taking in all the details with one glance. 

Two HPD officers were prying something out of the wall above a pair of overflowing garbage bins. Attending to their chore with exaggerated diligence, they conscientiously avoided looking at either the covered heap on the ground roughly halfway towards the mouth of the alley, or the solitary figure leaning against the wall, about fifty yards from it, staring blankly into space. There was an ambulance parked at the mouth of the alley, and two paramedics waited patiently for permission to remove the body. 

Steve walked over to Dan, who did not even glance at him as he approached.

"What happened?"

"I heard gunshots and a scream," Dan replied woodenly, still staring into thin air. "Mrs. Wing was dead, the shooter ran out here. I followed. I identified myself as a police officer. She turned and aimed at me. She fired. So did I. She missed. I didn't."

Sergeant Ono came over; his moon-face set in an expression of unaccustomed solemnity. "She's been identified, Steve. Kimi Toshiro. Age – thirteen. That's her mother over there." He pointed to a Japanese woman who knelt beside the body, weeping.

Steve did not bother to ask how the woman managed to find out about her daughter's death and get here even before the body was cold. The coconut wireless was sometimes infuriatingly efficient. 

"Thirteen." Dan said, tonelessly, "That's too young to die, Steve."

"It's too young to kill, Danno", McGarrett replied, quietly. He turned back to Sergeant Ono, without further comment. He had neither the time nor the inclination for maudlin attempts to comfort Dan. He had to clear up this investigation as quickly as possible, before the press got hold of the story and began to scream "Whitewash." Danno had been through this before. He knew the way things were. He would just have to deal with it. 

Deep in conversation, McGarrett and Ono began to walk towards the body. As they approached, the child's mother stood up. Walking past the two policemen without seeming to notice them, she headed towards Dan. Dan watched her approach without reaction. At last, the woman stood in front of the man who had killed her child. She barely reached his chin. They stared at each other, wordlessly. Appalled, Steve watched as the woman tossed back her head, hawked and spat in Dan's face. Dan did not even flinch.

The two stared at each other for several seconds before the woman turned and walked away. Dan watched her go, making no effort to wipe away the spittle that ran down his cheek. 

Steve turned towards the body. He did not consider approaching Dan with words of comfort. Dan had been a cop for fifteen years. He knew what to expect. 

About half an hour later, Steve was satisfied that there was nothing he could do to speed up the progress of the investigation, and decided to head back to the office. He looked around for Dan, but there was no sign of him.

"Has anyone seen Danno?"

"Not for a while, Steve," one of the uniformed officers responded. "I think the last time I noticed him was when the mother." His voice trailed off in embarrassment.

"I bet he took his gun with him!" One of the forensics officers, a weedy little runt named Halloran, snapped irritably. "We need it, for testing!" 

Steve gave a grunt of annoyance. He could understand why Dan would want to be alone for a while, but there were just too many things that required his presence right now. Too many loose ends. Still, there wasn't anything Steve could do about it at the moment. He gave instructions that he should be notified if there were any new developments, and that no one was to speak to the press, and departed.

*

Steve was sure that Dan would have returned to the office, and was surprised and annoyed to find that he was not there. When several hours passed, and he had still not put in an appearance, and was not replying to his radio calls, Steve phoned Dan's apartment. The phone rang out. At ten thirty, Duke offered to drop by Dan's apartment on his way home. Duke knocked and rang the doorbell for at least half an hour before reporting back to McGarrett that Dan was not at home.

By dawn the next morning, there was still no sign of the missing man. Duke went to check out Dan's apartment, again. Steve waited fretfully in the office, simmering with anger; ready to explode when Dan finally did show up.

An hour and several cups of black coffee later. The telephone rang. Steve leaped forward, out of a fitful doze, and snatched up the receiver. "Yes."

"Steve? Duke." The voice on the other end of the line sounded strangely hollow and distant. "I'm at Danny's. You'd better get over here."

*

The first thing Steve noticed about Dan's apartment was the smell. The moment he entered, he recognized the cloying, coppery smell of blood with the underlying stench of human waste. The smell of sudden, violent death.

Then he saw how **crowded **it was. It was a very small apartment, and there seemed to be people milling around all over. There were several HPD cops wandering through the rooms, rummaging through Danno's belongings, opening drawers and cupboards, inspecting the contents. A photographer was taking snaps of the apartment from every angle possible. Halloran, the forensics officer who had been at the shooting yesterday, was now giving his attention to Dan's apartment and furniture. 

Motes of dust danced in the shaft of early morning sunlight that streamed through the window, illuminating the room. This apartment was almost as familiar to Steve as his own place. Yet, today, there was something bizarre about it. His eyes skimmed over the room taking in the paintings on the walls, the knick-knacks and personal items scattered around, the tasteful, neutral color scheme, the thick carpet, the inexpensive but serviceable furniture

At last, his gaze came to rest on the easy chair, partially obscured by the figures of Duke and a young man in a white coat. The pair were in deep discussion. They looked up as Steve approached, and Duke introduced the young man. "Steve, this is Doctor Chun. He's from the coroner's office." Duke's face was set in a mask of shock. The same expression was on the face of every other man in the room.

Steve did not waste time on niceties. "What happened?" The question was aimed at every man in the room.

Duke stepped aside, allowing Steve a complete view of the chair and its occupant. "Danno's dead, Steve." Though he spoke quietly, the words were easily heard above the subdued murmur of the other voices in the room. Duke's voice, like his face, was blank, as if shock had driven all feeling out of him.

Rigor mortis had set in. Dan's body slumped in the chair, doubled over at the waist, and skewed slightly to the left, with his left temple resting on the arm of the chair. The back of his head appeared to be missing. What was left of his hair was covered with a crust of drying blood, giving the curls a curious sculpted appearance. A mantle of blood coated his back and shoulders, and swathes of it meandered down his arms. The seat of the chair, and Dan's pants were saturated with a fetid combination of blood and his bodily fluids, spontaneously released at the moment of death. This foul mess now formed a soggy pool around the base of the chair, and Dan's feet.

His left arm dangled over the arm of the chair. The right arm hung down beside his leg, with the gun still gripped in his hand. _They will probably have to break the fingers in order to remove the gun_, Steve realized coolly, wondering vaguely why the thought did not cause him any sorrow.

There was a hole in the back of the chair, just where Steve imagined Dan's head would have been if he had been sitting upright. The area around it was splattered with blood and other material: flecks of pink and gray brain matter, white skull fragments, and lumps of scalp tissue with the hair still attached. 

Steve's eyes roamed around the room, "How did they get in? There doesn't seem to be any sign of forced entry."

Dr. Chun stared at him in amazement. He could not believe that the head of _Five-0 _was incapable of recognizing or accepting what had happened here. After a moment's silence, he said, quietly, "Of course, a post-mortem will tell us more, Mr. McGarrett, but it appears from the position of the body and other evidence, that Mr. Williams took his own life."

Steve was about to tell this little pipsqueak to check again. Doc Bergman would never have suggested such a thing. The idea that Dan Williams would commit suicide was ludicrous. Williams was one of the finest, most courageous men he had ever known. This was murder, no matter how it was disguised.

Using a plastic evidence bag as a glove, Duke bent down to pick up an empty whisky bottle and glass from beneath the chair. Both items were coated with brown slime, and he handled them gingerly as he placed them into bags. "Was he drunk?" he asked softly. His voice was neutral. His brown Hawaiian face had a dusty grayish tinge.

Chun shook his head. "Not when he planned it. Too methodical." He nodded towards a table to the right of the chair. There was a lamp on the table, still burning; no one had bothered to switch it off. A telephone sat beside the lamp, and Danny's badge case lay beside the phone. It was open, the badge glinting in the morning light. There was an envelope propped against the telephone, addressed to Steve McGarrett. Steve recognized the writing immediately. 

"He took great care." Duke murmured. "His badge and the letter to you over here, his wallet and personal effects on the table over there on the table." He pointed to a small dining table in the corner, where a young police officer had begun to inspect the contents of Dan's wallet. "He left a copy of his will on the table, also. Made sure that nothing would be stained by blood."

"I think this had been coming for a long time," Dr. Chun continued. "In my opinion, this man was in deep trouble."

Taking care not to step in the putrid mess around the chair, Chun leaned forward and pushed Dan's head back. The entire corpse collapsed stiffly against the back of the chair, and Steve saw the face. It was already discolored and bloated almost beyond recognition. The eyes were wide open, and rolled back into the head, and the features were contorted in an expression of unspeakable agony. There were powder burns around the mouth, which was open wide, frozen in a scream, the lips pulled back tight, baring teeth and gums. There was a crusty pink froth on the lips. Blood dribbled from the corners of the mouth. 

Steve turned away from the grotesque thing that had so recently been a living, breathing man, and his friend.

From the other side of the room, a voice carried clearly, as someone itemized the contents of Dan's wallet Driver's license – Dan Williams; social security card – same; credit cards – Visa Mastercharge American Express three ten dollar notes, three fives and five ones; one French letter – always prepared, hey, Danno, guess you really got lucky last night!'

Steve spun around, ready to bawl out the man who spoke so facetiously, but the sight of the man's face stopped him short.

The cop who stood beside the small dining table with Danno's wallet in one hand, holding up a foil wrapped prophylactic in the other, was no more than a kid, fresh out of the academy. The fabric of his uniform was crisp and dark, not yet softened or faded by continual laundering and hours in the sun. The buttons, and his badge, shone brilliantly, lovingly polished and buffed by someone who was still proud to look like a cop, someone who had not yet lost his illusions about just what that meant.

_He's beginning to learn!_ Steve thought that this must have been the first violent death that the kid had been to. His face was ashen. There was a tinge of green around his mouth, though his lips themselves were drained of all color. Beads of sweat bedecked the upper lip, and he was having difficulty controlling the violent contortions of his lips. Steve recognized that the flippant words had not been a sign of disrespect, but a trick to ward off the horror of the situation. It was a trick that Danno himself had often employed, using cynicism as a shield against the bleak reality of the job. It occurred to Steve that, with his crisp, blonde curls and fresh-faced good looks, this boy could have been Danno, fifteen years ago!

_When did we start taking them so young? _Steve wondered distantly, and felt a momentary surge of sympathy for the boy, followed by a flash of blistering rage. _How could Danno do this? Was he so lacking in consideration for those he left behind to clean up the mess? Was he so wrapped up in self-pity that he couldn't spare a thought for their pain?_

The rage subsided as quickly as it had flared up. Once again, he felt cool and detached. He turned to Duke. "If I'm needed, I'll be with the Governor. The press are going to have a field day with this." 

For a heartbeat, Duke's eyes registered pain and condemnation. _But this is Danno! Doesn't that mean anything? Just this once, can't you show some feeling? Some emotion? Can't you act like a human being for once?_ But the accusations remained unspoken. Duke nodded and turned away.

Dr. Chun touched Steve's arm. "Mr. McGarrett. The Note. It's addressed to you." When Steve seemed reluctant to take the proffered envelope, he added, "It's OK. It's been dusted."

Silently, Steve took the envelope. He would have slipped it into his pocket, unopened, but Chun seemed to be waiting for something. Steve opened the envelope and removed and unfolded three pages covered in Dan Williams' handwriting. His expression did not change as his eyes flicked across the closely written pages. When he finished, he calmly refolded the papers and replaced them in the envelope. Handing the envelope to Chun, he said coldly, "I expect you'll want to take this to the lab for tests?" Before the astonished young man could reply, McGarrett turned away and strode out of the room.

News travels fast, and the death of the Second-In-Command of Hawaii Five-0 was big news. It seemed that every reporter and press photographer in the Islands was camped in the lobby of Dan Williams' apartment block. As soon as Steve stepped out of the elevator, they pounced. L_ike hungry dogs after red meat!_ Danno's long-ago description echoed in Steve's mind as he was surrounded by a jostling crowd, thrusting microphones at him and yelling questions:

"Hey, McGarrett, is it true that Dan Williams is dead?"

"Was he murdered?"

"Who did it McGarrett?"

"McGarrett, is there any truth to the rumor that Williams ate his own gun?"

"Hey, McGarrett."

The questions buzzed unintelligibly in his ears as Steve strode unheedingly through the throng. Someone thrust a microphone right up close to his face, and he batted it away instinctively, otherwise he seemed unaware of their existence, as the mob accompanied him out of the building to his car. They were still yelling questions at him as he drove away. 

****

In the absence of any living relatives, it fell to McGarrett to arrange Dan Williams' funeral. The Governor, anxious that the scandal should subside quickly, decreed that Williams must be buried with as little publicity as possible, and McGarrett was not disposed to disagree.

Dan Williams had lived a life of courage and dedication to duty, frequently putting his life on the line for the sake of others, but for him there was no hero's funeral, no pomp and ceremony, no extravagant eulogies and no respectful salutes from his peers. Since McGarrett had vetoed any communication with the press, media coverage was limited to rumor, hearsay and wild speculation about the manner and cause of his death. The man whose tally of bravery awards was matched only by McGarrett himself, was interred with almost indecent haste and secrecy, attended only by his closest friends; his entire existence reduced to two lines on a marble slab.

Throughout the preparations for the funeral, and during the service itself, McGarrett maintained the same air of icy indifference that he had displayed since the discovery of Williams' body. After the burial, he turned away from the graveside without a word and returned directly to the office. 

Five-0 had been seriously undermanned since the murder of Chin Ho Kelly, the year before. Never quite satisfied with the caliber of applicants, and hampered by inadequate funding, Steve had procrastinated over appointing a replacement, unmindful of the extra burden carried by the two remaining detectives, Dan Williams and Duke Lukela. Though the two men occasionally griped about the added workload, they did their best, and somehow managed to cover it.

Now, left with only Duke on his permanent staff, and faced with a severe shortage of manpower, Steve was forced to confront the task of recruiting new detectives.

Over the next few months, he gradually assembled a new squad, even bowing to the Governor's insistence that, in this era of sexual equality and political correctness, he should hire a woman, but he was unable to meld them into a team. He had to take on three new detectives to fill the void that Williams had left, and still they were not an adequate replacement. Not one of them had Dan's intuitive feel for detective work, or the perceptiveness that made him such a good cop. They were sloppy and careless, and reluctant to acknowledge their inadequacies. Duke Lukela was a good cop, but he lacked initiative. He had never had Dan's sharpness and insight, and, since Dan's death, he had lost whatever edge' he had. He seemed drained of vitality and vigor, and appeared to be merely going through the motions.' 

McGarrett never spoke Danno's name, and anyone imprudent enough to mention Williams in his presence was awarded a look that froze the blood in their veins. 

Five-0 was no longer the efficient unit it had been. As the months passed, McGarrett became increasingly aware of just how vital Dan Williams had been to the effectiveness of the squad. His death had created a gaping void in the unit. Morale had plummeted, efficiency had crumbled, and discipline had collapsed. Still, it did not occur to Steve that Five-0 would not weather the situation

***

January 30, 1981

Steve had been in the office since six. These days he could not seem to get more than a few hours sleep a night. In the end, he had decided to put the sleepless hours to good use, and had started coming to work earlier and earlier. This morning, he had found it particularly difficult to sleep. Today, they were burying Paul Jameson, the former Governor of Hawaii.

As the morning progressed, he heard the steadily increasing hubbub of people at work, but no one disturbed him. He had left instructions that he was to be bothered only if the island was in imminent danger of sinking. His latest secretary, a timid child, had seen enough of his temper to take him at his word. His door remained closed, his telephone silent.

Of course, it couldn't last. Eventually, the intercom buzzed. 

The Governor's office on line one, Mr. McGarrett."

With a sigh, he reached for the telephone. 

The Governor's secretary informed him, in clipped, formal tones, that Governor Pritchard wished to see him **immediately**.

_The changing of the guard, _Steve thought gloomily. No sooner had Pritchard moved into the Governor's office than Jameson's secretary, a plump, gossipy, cheerful woman, was transferred to another department, and replaced with a primly elegant blonde with scarlet fingernails who would treat the new Governor with the respect he felt he deserved. As he replaced the receiver, Steve felt a twinge of nostalgia for the casual, agreeable ambiance of the previous administration. 

Pritchard was seated behind his desk when his secretary ushered Steve into the Governor's office. He made no attempt to rise. Neither man offered his hand, nor wished the other Good Morning.'

"Thanks for coming, McGarrett. I'm sorry to have to bother you with this today of all days." The words were a formality. Pritchard's tone said that he was anything but sorry. "However, I thought that since this affects you and Hawaii Five-0, you would want to know as soon as possible. Now that the Iolani Palace restorations are completed, it has been decided to turn the entire building into a museum. The Five-0 offices must be vacant by March1."

"March 1?" Steve was incredulous. "There is no way we can move into new offices by March 1. Just where do you propose we move **to**? Have any alternative quarters been suggested?"

Pritchard smirked. His satisfaction was unmistakable.

"I received confirmation today from David Sommersby, at the State Department, that Hawaii Five-0 is to be abolished. From March 1, Hawaii will no longer have a State Police Force."

Before Steve had time to draw breath, Pritchard plowed on, pointing out that the deaths of Chin Ho Kelly and Dan Williams and the ensuing personnel changes had had a deleterious effect on efficiency, discipline and morale at Hawaii Five-0. The unit was no longer competent to do the job for which it had been established. It was felt that the funds and equipment being tied up by Five-0 could be more effectively utilized by HPD. 

"What about my staff?" Steve realized that it was pointless to argue. He had already lost. This plot had been hatching ever since Governor Jameson had been diagnosed with cancer. Only political etiquette had necessitated that Pritchard wait until Jameson was dead before announcing that Five-0 was to be dismantled.

"HPD is desperate for man-power. They're all top-notch, well trained officers, - Lukela, particularly - "

Steve refrained from pointing out that a few moments ago, Pritchard had implied that these top-notch, well trained officers were inefficient and lacked discipline.

He wasn't about to enquire about his own future, but the Governor seemed to read his mind. 

"Unfortunately, after being in command of Five-0 for so long, I don't imagine that you would be eager to take a subordinate position with HPD I'm sure that we can arrange for some kind of recognition of your long and distinguished career ... An award of some kind - accompanied by suitable financial remuneration of course"

Steve was dumbfounded. Pritchard was telling him he was redundant, preparing to pension him off, throw him on the scrap heap. His eyes traveled over the man with icy disgust. Steve was over sixty, but looked forty-five. Maybe he did owe the rich dark color of his hair to the dye bottle, but that was the only thing about him that could have revealed his age. He still jogged several times a week, and his body was lean and muscular, with no trace of fat. The Governor, on the other hand, looked at least fifteen years older than he was. A few sandy strands were combed over his hairless pate in an attempt to disguise his baldness, and his belly hung sloppily over the waistband of his pants, obviously the result of too many political banquets. _Your taxes at work!_ thought Steve, sourly.

If Pritchard was hoping for a quarrel, he was disappointed. Determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing him lose control, Steve kept a tight rein on his temper as Pritchard briefly outlined the schedule for closing down Hawaii Five-0. 

Then, with a curt, "I think that's all for the moment. Thank you, McGarrett," Pritchard dismissed him. Steve turned on his heel and strode out of the room, closing the door firmly behind him. 

**

St. Andrew's Cathedral, on the corner of Alakea and S. Beretania Streets, had been chosen as the most fitting venue for Governor Jameson's funeral. 

The interior of the Cathedral was cool and dim, and smelled faintly of beeswax and flowers. A shaft of sunlight filtered through the colored glass of the stained glass window that reached from the floor to the eaves on the western façade, dappling the flag draped coffin of the former Governor with color. Floral offerings were piled on top of the casket and around the foot of the bier.

All the pews were full. Steve, arriving late from his confrontation with the new Governor, was forced to sit at the back of the cathedral. He surveyed the congregation carefully. As a friend, he was gratified by the number of important political and military figures who were in attendance, but, as a security conscious cop, it worried him; he was only too aware of the security risks of such a public occasion. One by one, in a seemingly unending procession, various dignitaries got up to extol the virtues of the man who was being buried today. 

Ever vigilant, Steve tried to remain on the alert for any trouble, whilst following the tedious formalities of the funeral service, but part of his mind kept returning to his encounter with the new Governor. 

The walkie-talkie hidden inside his jacket remained mercifully silent. The Cathedral had been scoured for bombs several times in the past twenty-four hours, and there was a cordon of uniformed cops surrounding the building, as well as plain-clothes officers planted in the crowd outside. Still, the possibility that some nut would make a nuisance of himself lingered in the back of Steve's mind as he brooded on his meeting with the Pritchard.

Steve had never attempted to conceal his contempt for Sam Pritchard. He regarded him as an ignorant, bombastic buffoon, completely lacking in sensitivity. When Pritchard succeeded Paul Jameson as Governor, Steve realized that he would use every opportunity to wreak revenge for every condescending comment and acid remark.

Nevertheless, it had not occurred to him that even Pritchard would be so thick-skinned as to summon him so imperiously to the Governor's office on the morning of Jameson's funeral. 

For over twenty years, Steve had devoted himself to making Hawaii Five-0 an efficient unit, with a spotless reputation. It had taken first place in his life, ahead of family, lovers or friends, occupying some portion of his mind every waking moment. Even when he appeared to be engaged in other pursuits, his subconscious would be mulling over some problem or other. Now, his life had been stripped of direction. The future loomed before him, a gaping void, empty and without focus. 

He had always been aware that Pritchard was working against him, striving to undermine his authority and restrict Five-0's powers, but he was astounded by the lengths to which the man had gone, and that he had been so successful. Apparently, the decision had been unanimous. Not one voice had been raised in dissent, either within the State Department or the Governor's office.

It disturbed him that he had been so completely oblivious of what was afoot. There had not been one single person prepared to forewarn him or to support him. He had known that he was not popular. His rigid devotion to duty, and his adamant refusal to soft soap politicians and their cronies, had earned him a reputation arrogance and self righteousness, and had alienated those who could have been of most use to him now. 

Still, he had always believed that there were people willing to see some value in the work that he and Five-0 had done over the past twenty years. It seemed that he was mistaken. Paul Jameson had been his only ally. Now he was gone. McGarrett stood alone. 

McGarrett realized that all the people he had considered loyal, trustworthy, friends had also been associated with Hawaii Five-0. It shocked him to realize that now they were all gone. Paul Jameson, who he still thought of as The Governor,' was dead. So, too, was Doc Bergman. The crusty old coroner had keeled over in the midst of an autopsy, and died of heart failure before the ambulance arrived. Since his stroke two years ago, the brilliant mind of forensic scientist Che Fong remained imprisoned in a body that was a mere shell, incapable of speech or movement. Chin Ho Kelly had died in a botched undercover operation, and Dan Williams, had drawn the taint of scandal upon Hawaii Five-0 by taking his own life.

He had had few friends away from work, and those he had either allowed to drift away, too busy with the pressures of duty to work at keeping the friendships alive, or he had alienated them with his unbending devotion to duty and refusal to allow personal relationships to take precedence. 

The few romantic entanglements he had allowed himself had faded. When he was being completely honest, Steve had to admit that he was not quite sure whether they had wilted under the pressures of his job, or he had just been using that as an excuse to wriggle out of any long-term commitment. 

His relationship with his sister, his only surviving relative, had been strained for many years, since he had insisted on revealing the doctor who was treating her baby as a sham, and crushing Mary Anne's last hopes that the child would recover. When the baby was dying, Maryanne had begged him to drop the investigation, believing that if he did, the Doctor' would save her baby, but Steve's rigid principles had prohibited him from yielding to her request. It had been Danno who asked him, in an attempt to salvage the relationship between brother and sister, "Steve, just this once, can't you back off?" 

He remembered his own response: "Who made me savior of the world?" Now, so many years later, he realized that no one had. It was a role that he had assumed off his own bat, perhaps through the arrogant belief that he _could_ savethe world, perhaps because he needed to believe that he was needed or perhaps as a shield to protect him against the involvement with others that could make him vulnerable. Whatever the reason, the assumption of that role had led him to this moment. 

For the first time cognizant of how truly alone he was, McGarrett felt his throat constrict painfully. Suddenly, he felt the heavy burden of grief, such as he had never experienced before. 

He did not mourn for the man they were burying today. Paul Jameson had lived a full and useful life - an honorable life, by most standards - and he left it in an fitting manner, with the praise and fond memories of all those who knew him. 

Steve was mourning for the friends and family he had alienated, perhaps forever, by his single-minded dedication to what he had considered his duty. In particular, he felt the lacerating agony of grief for the friend he had buried a year ago with such insensitivity. The man who had stood by him, supported him against all comers, no matter what their private differences were. The man who had been the key force in maintaining morale and discipline within Hawaii Five-0. The man he had relied upon and considered a friend, more than anyone else he knew. The man he had loved and envied for his idealism and belief in the basic goodness of mankind. - qualities that McGarrett so keenly felt the lack of. The man who had let him down in the worst possible way, by taking his own life and bringing into disrepute the institution that had been the focal point of McGarrett's life. 

In a sudden, overpowering rush the feelings of grief and anger that he had held at bay for over a year flooded over him. It seemed that the emotions he had denied and suppressed for so long had been waiting for this moment, when he was at his most susceptible, to make themselves felt.

*

At last, the service ended. The congregation rose and followed the pallbearers carrying the coffin of Paul Jameson, former Governor of Hawaii, out into the afternoon sunshine.

The press had been barred from the cathedral, but they were waiting outside. TV cameras recorded every moment, as the casket was loaded into the waiting hearse and began it's slow progress through the streets of Honolulu, up the Pali Highway, through a series of narrow, winding streets to Puowaina Drive and into the immaculately manicured precincts of the National Memorial Cemetery of the Pacific. From a respectful distance, they filmed the lowering of the casket into the open grave. Steve knew that selected footage would be replayed repeatedly on the news broadcasts during the next few days, along with fitting tributes. Jameson would have been pleased.

Gradually, the mourners drifted away. Soon, the grave would be filled in, and marked with the same flat granite stone that marked each of the cemetery's other graves. Steve also turned away, intending to return to the office, but instead, he found himself at Oahu cemetery, standing beside a much humbler grave.

**

Dan Williams

December 8, 1937 - December 8, 1979

R.I.P.

Steve glared at the simple inscription. _The contribution of a lifetime reduced to a few short lines_

Someone had been here, not too long ago, to drape a lei of plumeria blossoms over the gravestone. The pale, waxy flowers fluttered gently in the breeze. Steve wondered fleetingly who had left the lei. He, himself, had not been here since the day Danno was buried. 

He gazed, blindly, at the cold gray stone, with the flower lei lovingly arranged over it.

He still found it unthinkable that Danno had chosen to tarnish the memory of a life of honor with a single irrevocable act. As a child, growing up in a strict Catholic home, Steve had been taught to regard suicide as a sin; as a grown man and a cop, he regarded it as unmitigated cowardice, and a senseless waste.

_Why?_

The question was rhetorical. Danno had explained his reasons, in a note addressed to Steve. Chun, the M.E., had thrust it into his hands, there in the room where Danno had died, with the corpse just a few feet away, and the foul smell of death so thick in the air that he could hardly breathe, and had stood by expectantly while he read it. Steve had read the note without reaction, his emotions as frozen as his countenance. In his experience, suicide notes were intended either to lay the blame on someone else, or to make excuses. He had felt no need to know why his second in command chose to put a gun in his mouth and pull the trigger. He just knew that he had. Searching for reasons would avail him nothing. 

There had been neither accusations nor excuses. 

Danno had written with an eloquence that he had never displayed before, baring his soul with every word; revealing, with searing transparency, the torment he had concealed, while he lived, behind a barrage of witticisms and a mask of a imperturbability. 

He wrote with uncompromising honesty of his inability to feel remorse over the shooting of Kimi Toshiro and his fear that he had grown to be as callous as the criminals he sought to get rid of. He described his loathing for the man he had become - a man whose struggle to deal with the horrors of his job, along with the personal traumas he had had to cope with, had robbed him of his faith in humanity and had drained him of the ability to feel compassion until he was so unfeeling that he could coldly gun down a child and feel no sorrow. He wrote of his weariness of the constant struggle against the encroaching tide of corruption, his feelings of weakness and inadequacy and the growing conviction that all the years of dedication to duty had been futile. Most of all, his words revealed an overwhelming sense of isolation and loneliness, and a pall of despair so deep and unrelenting that life no longer had any meaning for him. 

_Is that really how you felt, Danno_? Steve wondered. _Inadequate? That your life was a waste? Did you really feel so alone? Totally isolated, with no one you could unburden yourself to?_

Why, Danno? If you were in such pain, why didn't you come to me? Why didn't you ask for help? 

Of course, he knew the answer, though he could not bring himself to acknowledge it.

Since the day in 1959 when the Governor had appointed him as the chief of Hawaii Five-0, Steve had devoted himself to the fight against crime and corruption here in the Islands. He had sacrificed friendships, love and the chance of a normal family life to his concept of duty, and had expected similar sacrifices from the men he chose to work with him.

He had made it clear from the beginning that he would be satisfied with only the highest standard of professionalism and complete devotion to duty. He had no use for police officers who wore their hearts on their sleeves; he needed men who could concentrate on the task at hand, no matter what their personal feelings.

_I won't fail you Mr. McGarrett!_ In his mind, the vow took on the ring of accusation. 

Dan Williams had been young and idealistic, determined to be a good cop and convinced that he could combine his obligation to hunt down criminals with a compassionate attitude. He had clung to this belief despite the best efforts of Steve McGarrett and the entire criminal population of Hawaii to disabuse him of it, and it always came as a brutal shock to him each time he was proven wrong. He had been only too aware of his youth and inexperience, and so determined not to fail, not to let anyone down, that when he did make mistakes, he took them to heart, torturing himself openly over each perceived failure. Embarrassed by such open display of emotion, Steve resolved to inculcate some professional detachment in his young deputy, and to toughen him up.

_You're a cop. Don't bleed Danno_. He had snapped those words to his young assistant after Danno had killed for the first time. The victim had been a mere teenager (_He was a boy, Steve. Just a boy! Probably not even old enough to shave!_), and Danno's anguish was patently obvious. Steve had repeated the admonition, in different ways, many times through the years, and Dan had quickly learned to bury his emotions behind a façade of impassivity and a volley of wisecracks. He had learned, from McGarrett's example, to regard any admission of uncertainty or pain as a sign of failure. Though it was now recognized that stress was an occupational hazard for cops, and treatment was available, a cry for help or a request for counseling would have been looked upon as weakness, unmanliness, by both Dan Williams and Steve McGarrett, so he had given no sign that anything was wrong, no cry for help.

It had never occurred to Steve to question Danno's ability to deal with anything. After all, the man had never given any indication that there was anything amiss. Even on that last day, standing with Danno in the alley, just a few feet from the girl Danno had killed, he had not noticed that there was anything wrong with him. 

_The drinking,_ McGarrett reminded himself, uncomfortably, picturing Dan's face, as he responded to his greeting on that last morning, with red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes. He remembered his own uneasy suspicion, and the way he recoiled from it._ What about the drinking? That was right under your nose, but you didn't want to know! You never wanted to know! The signs were there all along, but you didn't want to confront them. You would have had to reach out, give something of yourself, and you couldn't do that!_

He knew it was true. Though he had always maintained that the Five-0 team were like family to him and that he loved them, he had always guarded against revealing too much of himself. When tragedy struck, he withdrew from his colleagues, disregarding their offers of help though they clearly demonstrated their willingness to provide comfort and support.

Only once had he allowed someone to see him lose control. When his nephew died, he had broken down in front of Danno, and the embarrassment had plagued him ever since. Not accustomed to sharing his own feelings, Steve did not encourage confidences from those around him. The idea that Dan should confess his pain to Steve would not have occurred to him any more than it would have occurred to Steve to spill his guts' about his own feelings

He had not noticed that Dan was losing the youthful eagerness and the idealism that had drawn Steve to him in the first place, that he was becoming jaded and bitter.

_You didn't want to notice!_ His conscience reminded him. _That was why you let him drift away._ Again, had to admit that this was true. He had allowed a rift to develop between them, so that he could ignore what was happening to Danno. If he did not notice, he would not have to try to offer help. He would not have to make himself vulnerable.

When Chin Ho Kelly was murdered, McGarrett had been so preoccupied by his own feelings of grief and guilt that he had not recognized the needs of his men, Chin's colleagues, or their feelings of grief. Unable to face the task of finding a replacement, he continually put it off, taking it for granted that Dan and Duke would be able to handle the extra work. As always, he had ignored the terrible pressure his men carried, assuming, as always, that they would survive.

_If I hadn't been so blind, if I had been more approachable, perhaps Danno would still be alive. _He had been blocking the thought since the moment he saw Dan Williams' body.

_Forgive me. I've let you down_. The final words of Dan's letter burned into his soul. 

No, Danno. You didn't let me down. You never let me down. All those years, you did everything I asked of you. You did your duty, regardless of the cost, and instead of appreciating your sacrifice, I just demanded still more of you, and ignored what it was doing to you. And when you finally couldn't take any more, I turned my back on you. I allowed you to be buried without honor, hidden away like a dirty little secret. You didn't let me down. I failed you, in life **and **in death!  I'm sorry. 

Steve had finally given structure to the formless, nameless feelings that he had been blocking out for the past year. He realized he had been using his hostility against Danno as a shield against acknowledging his own feelings of guilt. Now that he had faced up to his feelings, his bitterness against Danno began to dissolve.

Though he could never truly accept Danno's decision to kill himself, in facing up to his own feelings of responsibility over it, Steve could now begin to make peace with the fact that he had, and forgive him for it. Perhaps one day he could forgive himself. 

"Aloha, Danno, " he murmured. "Rest in peace, aikane."

As he turned away from the grave, a strong gust of wind caught at the delicate blooms of the plumeria lei and blew the petals away, leaving the bare circle of thread looped over the gravestone.

Pau


End file.
